Ironic
by PersonWhoWritesStuff
Summary: It was kind of ironic how Ian was the one who joined the army, who was in another country fighting in some war, but Mickey was the one who was shot.


It was kind of ironic how Ian was the one who joined the army, who was in another country fighting in some war, but Mickey was the one who was shot.

It happened while he was on a "beer run" with his brothers. The convenience store owner wouldn't have any of their bullshit and went straight for the shotgun under the counter.

His brothers had run out of the store as soon as the first shot had been fired. They didn't even notice that Mickey wasn't following them. No one had stayed to make sure he was okay.

He wasn't okay.

The shot had been fatal.

Mandy sat on Mickey's bed, tears streaming down her cheeks, and wrote to Ian about what happened. Mandy wrote to Ian a lot while he was in the army. Mickey wrote to Ian a lot too, but he had never actually sent any of his letters.

Mandy had decided to send them for Mickey. She knew the only thing that kept him from sending them was fear, but there was nothing for Mickey to fear anymore. She trusted Ian with the letters. She knew deep down that Mickey would've trusted Ian too.

Ian had read Mandy's letter five times over before running to the nearest toilet and throwing up.

It had to have been a mistake. This letter was meant to go to a different "Phillip Gallagher," who also happened to have a friend named Mandy, who also had a brother named Mickey, who he also happened to be in love with. It was a misunderstanding. Ian's Mickey was perfectly alive, in his house back in Chicago. His Mickey was sitting on the couch right now eating pizza bagels and watching TV.

Ian hadn't been ready to read Mickey's letters right away. In fact, he waited weeks. He felt like as soon as he did read them, this all would become real, and he would have to face that. When he does finally read the first one, he isn't surprised that its an angry letter.

_Shithead-_

_Fuck you. If you wanna fuck off to the fucking army and be a little bitch then fine. I hope you fucking get shot! I fucking got shot twice because of you! You think I'm some piece of shit just because I got hitched? Fuck you! At least I don't sleep with fucking old married pedophiles._

_Go fuck yourself,_

_Mickey_

__The first few were like this. Then there were some where Mickey had finally seemed to calm down.

_Gallagher-_

_I don't even fucking get what your problem was. You can fuck Kash when he's married, but I have to be single? What the fuck! Kash is a fucking pussy, and I know I'm better than him. Everyone thinks its my fault you left-your fucking brother came over and punched me the face the other day- but I didn't fucking make you leave! You left because things got a little fucked and you couldn't fucking handle it. It ain't my fucking fault, it's my dads. And you fucking left me here with him. So that makes you the scared little bitch._

_And when I said I hope you get shot I mean like in the leg or something. It'd be real shitty if you died. Even if you aren't ever gonna fuck me again, I still hope you don't fucking die._

_-Mickey_

__Eventually there was just a series of short, few-sentence letters. They were written on scraps of paper, or even just post-it notes. Ian wondered why Mickey had even bothered to write any of them. But he was fucking glad he did.

_Gallagher-_

_I hope you do fucking know that Kash was a pussy. So was that fucking old dude and that asian. You have a fucking shitty taste._

_-Mickey_

_Gallagher-_

_There's this guy at my work who looks like you. He wants to be a paramedic though. You should've just been a paramedic, you fucking dumbass._

_I can't fuck this guy, though, He's straight._

_-Mickey_

_Gallagher-_

_You said you also used to fuck Roger Spikey, well that kid was a pussy too. I used to beat the shit out of him all the fucking time just because he was a fucking pussy. You know he moved to the north side, right? That's where fucking pussies live._

_-Mickey_

_Ian-_

_The other thing about Kash was that he's just a pedophile. You know that, right? It wasn't like he fucking loved you or anything._

_-Mickey_

_Gallagher-_

_You're fucking stupid, you know that? I did a lot and you act like I didn't fucking do anything. Just because I can't talk about my feelings like a fucking faggot._

_-Mickey_

_Ian-_

_Just because Kash didn't doesn't mean I don't. Cos I do, okay? Fuck you._

_-Mickey._

__Ian could tell that Mickey had been drunk when he wrote the last one. It didn't matter though, he knew Mickey had meant it.

Ian could honestly say that he had never felt worse than he had in that moment.

The first thing Ian decided to do when he returned to Chicago was go to Mandy, and find out where he was buried.

"Do you want me to show you?" She had asked.

"I'd rather go alone."

After Mandy told him which cemetery, it didn't take him long to find his headstone. It was smaller than many of the others, as he knew it would be. Ian was just glad that it still looked clean. He pulled out a cigarette and lit it.

_Michael Milkovich_

_1994-2013_

After a long pause, Ian spoke.

"You'd probably call me gay for being here." He chuckled a bit.

Another pause.

"I'm sorry I couldn't make it to the … to the funeral … Actually no, that's a lie. I wouldn't wanna see you like that. You'd be all cold and still. You were never really still. Not even when you were asleep. This is probably the most rest you've ever had in … well, ever."

He moved forward, and sat down so he was facing the headstone. He stared at it as if waiting for it to respond.

"Mandy sent me your letters. I liked reading them. Well, I _would_ have liked reading them. I wish you had sent them. I get why you didn't though. You were right, you know? Kash and all them were pussies. I was a pussy too. For leaving, I mean."

He sniffed and took a drag of his cigarette.

"I feel like it's my fault, you know? I feel like if I never left … you'd still be here. It's stupid to think that, I know, but …"

He began tracing his fingers on the indents in the headstone.

_M._

"I never doubted how you felt about me, you know?" He gave a harsh chuckle. "And I still fucking left. I couldn't just …"

_i._

"You were right. I was selfish. I knew you didn't love her, or care about her, and you only married her because you were afraid of your dad. And then I just left you alone with him."

There were tears almost leaking out of his eyes at this point.

"I tried to leave you alone that other time too-when you're dad caught us. I tried to fucking _leave_ when you were getting the shit beat out of you! And it was because of me! You fucking jumped on top of your own father to get him off of me, and I just tried to leave you! I mean, I'd like to say that I was only going to try to find something to get him off of you, but I was headed for the fucking door. I was a fucking asshole, Mickey! You did do a lot, but I was just fucking selfish and I wanted more and I'm sorry!"

He put his head in his hands for a moment.

"I wish it was me down there. I fucking deserve it-I practically _signed up_ for it! … Why'd you have to fucking go with them, anyway!? Why didn't you just stay home!? _Fuck_!"

Eventually he sniffed, looked up, and went back to tracing.

_c._

"I wish I had a time machine, you know? Well yeah that's obvious I mean anyone who knows someone who died wants a time machine. But you know what I would do? I'd go back and I'd take you with me. Instead of fucking off to the army, I'd take you with me. I'd take you to every single state. Fuck, every single country! And then you could pick which one you liked best and we could just live there for as long as you wanted. We could bring Mandy too, you know, so you'd know she was safe. Just you, me and Mandy. Sounds great, right?"

His last sentence came out so pathetically, it sounded like he had no energy.

_h._

"I'll take care of her. Mandy. I'll go beat up any shithead who messes with her, like you would've, I promise. I'll make sure no one hurts her. I know you would've wanted someone to take care of her. Even though she's tough, and doesn't need me to. I will for you. Because_ you_ can't."

_a._

"I used to talk to Mandy all the time about you. I mean, not that she ever knew it was you. But I'd ask for advice and stuff. I told her how hot you were. Kinda glad she didn't know about us, I mean, it'd be pretty weird talking about fucking her brother, you know? … I'm sorry I told her, by the way. I mean, even though I was drunk and pissed about your wedding it still wasn't my place. I still think she should've known at some point, but not like that."

_e._

"I'm sorry, I still want to fucking murder your father. He was a fucking prick, Mickey! Gay or not he was still a shitty dad to you. Did you even know about him and her? Did Mandy ever tell you? He raped her, Mickey! I would kill him if you were here. I still might for Mandy."

_l._

"Sometimes it's weird to think that your name is Michael. Like, you'll always be just Mickey to me."

Ian sighed and stood up.

"I love you, Mickey. And I know if you were here right now you'd tell me I was being really gay. But you'd love it. You loved it when I did something you'd call 'gay,' I could always tell."

Ian reached into the bag he had with him.

"I don't have flowers, but I did-" he pulled out half a bottle of Jack Daniels and half a pack of cigarettes "-bring your favorite. I, uh, drank and smoked half of them 'cause I figured some homeless guy will come along and find them eventually. This way only half will have gone to waste. I knew you'd probably hate me if I wasted a_ full_ bottle of Jack and pack of Marlboros."

He set them both down by the headstone. He gave an awkward nod, and wiped away the remaining tears in his eyes.

"Well, bye. Or … you know, see you later."


End file.
